How to Stop a Man Fancying You and then the Opposite

I know, jumping the gun a bit, but, just in case.

Because this is what might happen:

I finally get a man to fancy me. We go out, we stay in, we get married, we live happily ever after. And then, well, what if I’m fed up with him, or he turns out to be not Mr Right, or a serial killer, or someone who leaves toast crumbs in my shoes? There will be no solutions left (aside from divorce, murdering him or disguising him as a hoover and hiding him in the cupboard under the stairs ) aside from getting him not to fancy me.

Prepared or what?

So - How to Stop a Man Fancying You Using Newton’s Law of Cooling:

The law states: The rate of change of the temperature of an object is proportional to the difference between its initial temperature and the ambient temperature

In our case we obviously want to reduce the temperature of the object. Simply a matter of reducing the ambient temperature. There are a number of ways of doing this:
Hide all the object’s clothes.
Turn off the central heating (also saves the planet as well as your sanity).
Move to Alaska (this may not work as the men to women ratio is about 6.456:1.3 ).
Make a suit out of those ice-cube bags and put it on him when he’s not looking.
Throw a bucket of cold Ribena over him.
Blow on him.

It may be the case that the object objects to being cooled by any of the above methods. Objects can be stubborn like that. The last resort is to simply point a pair of heated curling tongs at him and tell him to fuck off.

Now I’m thinking that surely if this works for stopping a man fancying you, science being what it is, the opposite approach should engender the opposite effect. And since, at the moment, I’m still on the opposite end of the process and conveniently an object is coming to my house tomorrow. I have a cunning plan:

I’m going to –
Turn my heating back on
Wrap us up together with woolly jumpers, long johns and my hot water bottle (which has a cover like a baby rabbit; that should help).
Fill the bath with hot chocolate and throw us in.
Curl his hair.
Hug him whilst in the throws of menopausal hot flushes ( I knew those would come in useful for something).
Blow on him.

I don’t think he’ll spot what I’m up to will he?